Through All This Pain
by flutflutflyer
Summary: Why must she go through all this pain? But she must remain strong, no matter what that means. Set during "Endgame". Asami. Three-shot.
1. Winter

A/N: I felt like there were a few missing scenes in the finale, so I've decided to write three of the missing scenes from Asami's point of view. I was going for a Bosami friendship here, but I suppose that you could interpret it as romance if you so choose. Whatever floats your boat. Or ship, I guess.

* * *

Snow.

Soft and white and silent in its fall as it blankets everything at once, living and dead alike. From the clear skies the colour of sorrow up above flurries float down in whispers, settling on the ground like the spirits' way of connecting them all together under the nothingness, reminding them that they, too, will be nothingness one day.

Her father lies in the white, the electrified wires black around his uniform, saying nothing, his face an impassive mask of fury, disbelief, and hate. Her boot crunches quietly as she steps into the snow, the wind lifting her hair, fanning it out behind her, and she gazes down at the man she thought loved her more than anything. The last family she has. The _last_.

And now she doesn't even have that.

Her father doesn't love her mother, doesn't love _her_, doesn't _love_. Hate took root, branching out, spiralling into every corner of his spirit until his very existence was, and is, consumed by the need for revenge. But revenge, as her mother told her once, is a two-headed rat viper. While you watch your enemy go down, you're being poisoned yourself.

She wants to tell him something. Wants to make him see reason. Wants to force him to understand. But she can already see that he is lost to her, disappeared like ashes on the air. She remembers her father's hand on her shoulder when her mother was cremated, his touch the only tether that held her to this world. Now it feels like a lie, a sham, a mere diversion, like her father's supposed support for the Fire Ferrets. A cover-up. A little pretend story to hide the roiling rage within him. Even then, did he love her?

Anger contorting his features, her father glares at her, pure hate burning in his eyes. If he could kill his own daughter, what hope is there left?

Her father is gone, replaced by a tool for Amon's revolution, a mecha tank incapable of emotion.

She has no father.

Slowly, she shakes her head, looking solemnly at the man she trusted for seventeen years of her life, her heart beating dully, the reality settling steadily in her. Grief wells up within her like the flood after forty nights of rain, the water lapping as the barren dunes, choking whatever hint of green cold have grown. It is all she feels, this overpowering grief, drowning her. She lost her mother so long ago; she lost her boyfriend; and now she has to lose her father.

Why must she go through all this pain?

But she is strong, strong as the rock of the mountain. She has been strong for as long as she can remember, strong enough to withstand her mother's death, strong enough to withstand her father revealing himself as an Equalist, strong enough to withstand Mako leaving her for another. And she will be strong now.

She has to be.

For Republic City's sake.

And maybe for her own.


	2. Horizon

A/N: Like Katniss in _The Hunger Games_, Asami needs the meadow, not the fire. A direct continuation of Winter.

* * *

Her father lowers his eyelids in disappointment and turns away, curling himself into a crescent moon, daring her to lay a hand on him. She feels the wetness of tears at the corner of her eyes, but she must not cry; she must be strong, no matter the pain the universe throws at her.

From somewhere behind her comes a gentle sneeze and the sound of footsteps through the white: He's standing in the snow in the edge of her vision, shivering slightly in the cold, and she glances at him, snowflakes landing on her eyelashes.

"Bolin." She tastes the name on her tongue, tastes her voice again, tastes the future that may be. Moving back from her father, from a past no longer hers, from the icy hate that froze her fire for so long, she steps towards him. "Thank you . . . for saving my life."

He smiles sheepishly and rubs the back of his head. "Hey, anything for a friend, right?" Almost nervously he fiddles with the collar of his shirt.

Inhaling, she opens her arms, unfolding herself for the first time since all of this torment began, and she embraces him, suddenly, without warning, surprising even herself. She fears that he will push her away as Mako did on occasion, refuse to let her in, shut her out as she has been too many times to begin to consider the pain, but his arms are at once around her as well, pressing her into him, his warmth surrounding her. His readiness to accept the hug without question or concern dumbfounds her, his naïve trust and faith so refreshing from Mako's constant cynicism.

"Are you okay?" he whispers. She feels her strength fail, feels herself start to slip down, feels the need to be held, but he pulls her up, steadies her on her own two feet, and for that she is more grateful than she could tell.

"No, I'm not okay." Pushing against him, she stands, shakily at first. "But I think I will be." Gazing back at her father, she takes a deep breath. "My father . . ."

He nods and calls to Naga, the great polar bear dog bounding over, compacting the snow under her massive paws. Carefully, he picks up her father's prone body; she looks away, unable to watch until he taps her on the shoulder. "I put him up on the saddle. Er, I guess we should head back." There's something comforting in the bright glimmer of hope within his green eyes. "I'm sure Captain Iroh—I mean, General Iroh—will get back to the city too."

"Bolin?"

For a moment he continues; realising her request, he snaps up and watches her with a joyful intensity. "You said that my father's a horrible father." Her throat tightens, a pit forming in her stomach. "But do you . . . remember your father?"

That same sheepish smile. He shrugs nonchalantly and looks away. "I guess I was thinking of Mako."


	3. Spring

A/N: This is just after Katara reveals that she can't heal Korra's loss of bending.

Why didn't Mako ever have closure with regards to Asami?

And I felt like Borra needed some on-screen closure as well.

* * *

The winter wind chills the room, the snows blowing in from outside, cold pressing on the mourners heavy as stone. Always snow. It's always snow for her, always the dead of winter, always the barren fields of tranquil death.

Suddenly as the blizzard storm appearing from nowhere, Korra leaves, the door closing behind her as though closing on this chapter of her life.

She tries to sympathise with her friend, the Avatar who lost her bending, but for some reason she can't. She's never had bending; at least Korra retains air. _She_ has nothing. _She_ lost everything. Mother, father, boyfriend, inheritance, life. Everything. But she hates herself for not being able to sympathise.

Mako rises, his face contorted with sorrow, fear, and love, and she can feel him breaking down with the need to rush after the Avatar, to protect her, to hold her and help her and heal her as the firebender couldn't do . . . for _her_.

Not that it matters anymore. She knows that Mako has feelings for Korra, knows that Mako loves Korra, knows that Mako would do anything _for_ Korra. And somehow it's all right. She understands that Mako doesn't love her, probably never loved her; she only wants him to be happy.

Her heart is heavy enough that standing is a struggle, but she lifts herself from the bench, counting her footsteps until she is next to her former boyfriend, next to the man she loved, next to the boy who unceremoniously flirted with another woman while dating her.

She touches Mako's shoulder, senses the muscles under her fingers tense, and says quietly, "I know how you feel about her." The words do not want to come, but she forces them out, every one searing her throat with its fire, burning her heart with its heat. "And it's okay."

"Yeah, bro." His brother's voice; she can see the letting-go in his eyes, and she realises that he has loved Korra all this time, but he, too, understands that Korra has lost her fire now and must regain it through Mako. "You go get her."

Mako doesn't turn to either of them, merely acknowledges their words by dipping his head, and then he's gone, another burst of cold the last vestige of his former existence, of the man she thought could protect her. But when the time came and she needed him, Mako wasn't there. He was, already then, completely and utterly Korra's.

And somehow it's all right.

Somehow, it's all right.

Warmth in her palm, fingers interlacing with hers. She glances up at him, his green eyes drowning in grief giving way to acceptance, to hope, to faith. "Are you okay?" he asks, and she remembers that he was the one to bring her back to her feet instead of merely protecting her.

"No, I'm not okay," she says again, tightening her hold on his hand, each uplifting the other, his smile brightening hers. "But . . . I think I will be."


End file.
